


“Are you banned from all Taco Bells, or just this Taco Bell?”

by ariaadagio



Series: Aria's Tumblr Prompts Game No. 1 [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Dialogue prompts, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Interstitial Scene, Post-Season/Series 03, tribe night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:19:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariaadagio/pseuds/ariaadagio
Summary: Interstitial scene between 3x24 and 4x01.  Charlotte’s death reverberates in the lives of those she touched.





	“Are you banned from all Taco Bells, or just this Taco Bell?”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miah_Arthur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miah_Arthur/gifts), [DifferenceEngineGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DifferenceEngineGirl/gifts), [petrichorishly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrichorishly/gifts).



> A Tumblr prompt for the dialogue, "Are you banned from all Taco Bells, or just that Taco Bell?" and the characters Dan, Ella, and Maze. Took sliiight liberties and changed "that" to "this" for the sake of my grammar sensibilities in this particular scenario. Enjoy!

The cloying, skunk-y scent of weed billows through the packed car cabin as Dan rolls the vehicle into the closest empty parking space. Which is right by the door, given that it's 3 a.m. on a fucking Monday. Eyes burning, he peers into the rearview mirror. Ella and Maze lie draped across the seat like discarded blankets.

"Happy?" he says.

Ella leans forward, squinting at the sign. "Yeah, this'll do."

"Oh,  _no_ ," Linda says. "No, no, no, this won't do at  _all_."

Dan turns his attention to the passenger seat. "What? Why?"

Linda winces. "Because I'm banned from stepping foot on the premises."

"Damn, really?" Maze crows from the backseat. "Way to go!"

"Damned probably literally," Linda says in a woeful tone, regarding the wall of glass windows with a pained expression. "This is …."

Maze licks her lips, grinning. "Sin?"

"Hey, I've done things."

"Like what?"

Dan squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his nose. "Are you banned from all Taco Bells," he says tiredly before Linda can reply, "or just  _this_ Taco Bell?"

"Just this one," says Linda.

He sighs. "I guess we could find a CVS or something, instead.  You could get chips."

"But I wanted tacos," Ella wines.

Maze knees the seat behind him. Hard. "My girl wants tacos."

"Well, there aren't any tacos," he snaps back.

"This is like the only place in the world other than Mexico where you can get Mexican food 24-hours a day," Ella says. "Of course, there's tacos, dude!"

"But I don't know  _where_ ," he grits out.

"We'll look it up," Linda decides in a soothing tone.

"I don't want to look it up!" he snaps. "I just want to fucking sleep!"

"Well, someone's grumpy," Maze says.

A reeking unlit joint, clenched between Ella's thumb and index finger, drifts into the corner of his field of vision. "You sure you don't want one? It's Lucifer's. They're super primo."

"No, I don't want any fucking weed!" A lump forms in his throat, and his eyes water. "I'm exhausted, and I want …." Charlotte.

"Oh." The leather seat squeaks as Ella clambors forward, leaning diagonally across the glovebox, her hands reaching forward. Grasping at him. Pawing. "Oh, dude. Bring it in."

"No," he says, shrugging away from her. "This is fucking stup— STOP." Ella gets the hint and slumps back against her seat. "I don't even know why I came along."

"Because Decker's gone, and we had room in the car," Maze says.

"Not helping," Ella whispers behind her hand.

"I can hear you, you know," Dan grumbles.

Maze shrugs. "What, it's the truth."

"No," Linda says evenly. "No, that isn't the truth. We're all friends, here.  _Nobody_  is superfluous."

"Yes, he is."

Linda shoots a hard look over her shoulder. " _Maze_."

"What?" Maze huffs. "Why should I be nice to him when he won't accept my apology?"

"Because I haven't even had time to fucking think about apologies, God damn it!" he bellows. "I'm—"

His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. His sense of the car blots behind a fuzzy, mottled wall of black and savage, streaking red. And suddenly he can't breathe. He can't breathe in this car crammed to the gill slits full of estrogen and weed stench and people who're coping far better than he. People who don't seem to need to cope at  _all_.

People who aren't  _her_.

He snaps open the latch on his seatbelt, pushes open the car door, and frees himself from his confines before he does something he'll regret.

He kicks the door shut behind him, and then he yells into the bleak night. Deep. Primal. From the gut. His misery shatters the quiet for a moment. Two. Three. Only to be subsumed by silence when he runs out of breath. He slides to the dirty, oil-stained pavement, panting, his fingers clenched against his jeans.

And then he stares into space, wrung out.

Aching.

Dead.

Not like Charlotte, but he might as well be.

"Hey," says a soft voice to his left.

"I want her back," he croaks as Ella settles beside him. "Please, I just want her back. I'd do  _anything_."

"I know," Ella says softly. "Me, too."

He scoffs. "All you guys did tonight was laugh and gossip and chatter like nothing happened."

"Because we're all drunk as skunks, dude! Or stoned. Or  _both_." Ella blinks, eyebrows wrinkling. "Or Maze."

He laughs, bitter, hating. "She is …  _really_  …." He's at a loss for words about what Maze is  _really_. Abrasive, maybe. Asshole-ish. Violent. Murderous. Evil.

 _Kindred_.

"I think she's probably hurting, too." Ella sniffs. Her eyes are red and puffy, and for the first time he wonders if it's not from the marijuana. "In her own way, I mean."

"Right."

The skunk-y smell of Ella's clothes envelops him as she flops a warm arm around his shoulders, leaning close. "The point is … we're all grieving, okay? And you're not just loaner Tribe. You're Tribe. Period. Anytime you need us." She pulls out her phone and opens Yelp.

He frowns. "What are you doing?"

She sniffs again. Shrugs. "Finding tacos. Tacos are good for munchies  _and_ grief."

"I'm not hungry."

"Maybe, not. But look. This place has beer!"

"I'm the designated driver."

"Dude," she says, raising an eyebrow at him. "Uber. Learn it, live it, love it. M'kay?"

He scans the review for the place — it's one of those hole-in-the-wall style places that looks too sketchy to serve anything but a health-code violation, but in this town, when it comes to tacos … he's discovered sketchy means savory, delectable perfection. And … they do have beer. And wine. He closes his eyes, trying to think of what Charlotte might say to him now.  _Go on. Eat. Drink. Don't waste your life on me._ But that's fantasy. Really, he has no idea what the fuck she'd say. They'd barely had any time to get to know each other before ….

Grief is a knife, gutting him all over again, leaving him in ruin. His lower lip trembles. He takes a breath and blows it out, the air quivery and unsettled, but he manages to hold himself together. Somehow.

"Does it have parking?" he says quietly. "Or should we Uber from here?"

_~finis~_


End file.
